


call me a menace

by riots



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9494030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riots/pseuds/riots
Summary: Jack never expected a call from Miranda, and shedefinitelydidn't expect her to ask for a favour.





	

**Author's Note:**

> erughostcat! apparently we both got each other for masseffectholidaycheer, and we both went for a little jack/miranda!! i know i'm sneaking in under the wire here but i hope you enjoy it!!

It takes Jack a solid ten seconds to register exactly who’s calling her, and another ten to seriously consider whether or not she’s gonna pick up. Finally, she sighs, her lips twisting as she flaps a hand at Prangley. “Take five,” she tells him. “Got something to take care of.” He eyes her curiously but, smart kid, doesn’t ask. Just heads out of her office with his head down. He’s already going through his notes from their meeting and she makes a mental note to ease off the mean. Kid tries real hard, he deserves some credit.

The door slides shut behind him and Jack uses her toe to steer her chair back around again, thumbing on the vid screen. “To what do I owe the pleasure, cheerleader?”

Miranda looks pretty much exactly the same, which is kind of what Jack expected, but still somehow unnerving. It’s been years since the Reaper war ended, and Jack’s already got streaks of grey through what little of her hair she keeps. Miranda though, she looks just like she did when Jack first caught sight of her in Purgatory’s docking bay: like a cover girl for Cerberus Weekly. Nice to look at, and infuriating. “Hello, Jack,” she says.

Jack likes to think that she’s grown as a human being, that she’s older and wiser now. “It’s been like a decade and I still don’t like you, so maybe get to the point.” Her lips stretch in something approximating a smile. She hopes it’s as hideous as it is hard to manage. “Wouldn’t want you to miss getting your nails done, or whatever.”

To her credit, Miranda manages to look only a little pained. “It’s nice to see you too,” she tells Jack. It’s not believable. Jack raises an eyebrow and shifts back in her seat. “How have you been?” 

“Small talk?” Jack barks out a laugh. She hasn’t seen Miranda in years, probably since that last thing Tali threw after she got her place finished on Rannoch. “Listen, you want someone to braid your hair and talk about boys, call Shepard. I got shit to do.”

She gets a quick flare of satisfaction at the way that Miranda’s eyes narrow. “This is not a social call,” Miranda says, and there it is, the brisk, brittle XO voice Jack remembers. Accompanied by that same dismissive sneer, Jesus, Jack feels like she’s right back under Engineering in the Normandy. “I have - I need to ask for a favour.”

“A favour.” Jack’s struck by the same speechlessness she felt when she saw Miranda calling. There’s a part of her that wonders if Miranda’s trying to pull one over on her. It’s not like she’s _ever_ trusted Miranda’s motives. She might’ve given Cerberus the old heave-ho when she saw the light, but as far as Jack’s concerned, she’s got a lot of ground to earn back. “You want a _favour_. From me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Miranda says, fiercely enough that it makes Jack shift up again in her seat. She’s defensive. It’s important. Jack has _leverage_. Now she’s interested. “Trust me when I say I have exhausted every possible venue before lowering myself to this call.”

Jack grins. She smells blood. “Oh no,” she says, delighted. “Princess has got to ask for help. This is the best thing that’s happened to me all week.”

“You must have a very small life,” Miranda snaps. She would never deign to flush in front of Jack, but that whole ice queen thing is slipping. It’s like, deeply satisfying. “I should have known this would be a mistake.”

“Oh, no, nope,” Jack wags a finger at her. “Now I gotta hear this story. What’s got little miss perfect all flustered?” She’s gotta admit, she’s genuinely curious. Miranda was built to be good at so many things, but making friends was never one of them. Jack’s pretty sure she’s got even less than _she_ does, and they amount to about her sister, and maybe Shepard. 

Miranda presses her long, graceful fingers to her temples and sighs. “I have a project, and I...require assistance.” 

“Uh huh,” Jack says.

“It is a situation of some interest to you,” Miranda continues on, doggedly, through clenched teeth. “As you well know, I’ve spent the past years rooting out the remnants of Cerberus. Not the easiest task, considering how paranoid the Illusive Man was, especially towards his death.” Jack gestures for her to get to the point. Yeah, yeah, Cerberus was great, blah blah. “I’ve discovered an outpost. One of the Illusive Man’s ranking officers made it out, and she’s been quietly rebuilding on a colony planet in the Terminus.” 

Ah. Now that _is_ interesting. Jack leans forward, props her chin in her hand. “Alright,” she says. “Go on.”

“Juno Stanton was a highly placed tactics officer in a military cell that operated out of the Eagle Nebula. It was a ...very covert operation. I never had the pleasure of making her acquaintance, and all of my digging through what the Illusive Man left behind has revealed very little about what she was doing. All I know is that the research centered around biotics.” It’s a targeted attack, but that doesn’t mean that Jack isn’t taking the bait. She tenses and narrows her eyes. “Thanks to some help on the part of our Shadow Broker friend, I’ve traced her current location to a base on Rough Tide in the Relic System.” She pauses. “I believe a small, targeted attack would work best. I would like to take you.”

It’s really tempting. Jack’s never been any good at turning down a shot to beat up Cerberus goons. “I don’t know,” she says, pursing her lips and shrugging a shoulder. “Real busy with the new round of students, you know?”

“You’re not,” Miranda says without hesitation. A trace of her old smugness returns. “I’ve already checked your schedule.”

She’s not wrong. Jack flounders for a minute before settling on glaring at her. “Weird,” she says tightly. “That’s like. Super weird. I would’ve thought you’d learned some manners by now.” Miranda may not be Cerberus anymore, but that doesn’t mean Jack is really into the idea of her rifling through her stuff.

Miranda’s smile widens. “I checked the Academy’s database. It’s all public.”

Jack narrows her eyes. “What do I get out of this adventure?” she asks.

“The pleasure of eradicating the last remaining Cerberus stronghold,” Miranda suggests. When Jack doesn’t even dignify that with a response, she rolls her eyes. “I will pay you for your time, Jack.”

Cold hard cash. Bonus. “I’m not cheap,” Jack tells her. “You want the best, you gotta pay for it.”

“Please,” Miranda says dismissively. “I have all the funds of the late Henry Lawson at my disposal, as well as what the Illusive Man had squirreled away.” There’s something sharp and pleased about the way that she smiles at Jack. She thinks she’s won. “I can afford anyone.”

Jack leans back in her chair again, considering. Miranda was right when she’d said Jack wasn’t busy - the semester just ended, and there’s no reason Sanders and Prangley can’t hold down the fort for her while she takes a little vacation to hit some Cerberus thugs. She just isn’t sure she really wants to do it with Miranda. They’re a far cry from the days when they were crammed together on the same boat and Miranda was still all rah rah racist for Cerberus, but that doesn’t mean they’re gonna be buddy buddy now. 

But she’s offering a chance to blow off some steam and she always did look good in a catsuit. Jack’s only human. “Alright,” she says slowly, and she’s surprised at how pleased Miranda looks. Huh. “But we’re not gonna like, make a habit out of this.”

“Perish the thought,” Miranda says, voice dry. “I’ll give you time to make arrangements for things at the Academy before we set out.” She straightens almost imperceptibly. “A pleasure doing business with you, as usual.”

The line blinks out, and Jack is left staring at the wall behind her haptic display. “Yeah, you too,” she grumbles.

Jack lets out a long breath, cracks her knuckles thoughtfully. She’s gotta figure out how to set things up for when she’s gone. How do you take a vacation? There’s probably paperwork. Jack scowls. Fuckin paperwork.

 

 

When Jack steps out of the shuttle at Korlus, she’s a little surprised to see Miranda waiting. It’s still hot as hell on this trash heap of a planet, but Miranda’s ditched the catsuit. It’s a little disappointing, honestly, but maybe practical. It's probably better not to stand out all that much on a planet full of mercs and shady types. Jack spares a second to look around, reconsidering. It's been a long time since she ran in the Terminus, but she's pretty sure Krogan never forget.

Miranda is leaning up against a sleek little ship of her own. It's definitely aesthetically scuffed up, but Jack can sniff out expensive tech from a system away. Better not to linger, someone might get the wrong idea. Jack smirks a little. Or maybe they should. Get a little fun in on the side. 

"You're late," Miranda announces, straightening.

"Took ages to get through security at the relay. Couldn't have used some of daddy's money to smooth things through for me?" Jack tips back on her feet, and takes Miranda in. Heels have been ditched for more functional boots, but her pants are just as tight. Flaunt it if you got it. Her long, thick hair is pulled back out of her face. Not abandoning using her looks as a weapon, but more practical now. Nice. Jack's kinda into it. "Looking good, Princess." 

Miranda pauses at the compliment, and then she rolls her eyes. "And you still haven't grown out that hairstyle. Pity." She shakes her head. "The whole point of a covert mission is not to arouse suspicion," she grouses. "A great deal of money being spent on an Alliance associate would _arouse suspicion_." She presses her fingers to her temple. "We don't have an unlimited window, here. My contact only has so long to get us into their base."

"So let's _go_ ," Jack says, spreading her arms wide. "I don't wanna hang out here any longer than we gotta." She kicks at a crack in the pavement and eyes the shady food stall near the end of the port. "Gonna have to burn this jacket when we're done. I like this jacket," she mutters.

Miranda snorts. "After you," she says, keying open the door to the ship and gesturing for Jack to take the copilot seat. 

Jack was not wrong about how expensive this vehicle was. She whistles, long and low. "Riding in style, huh?"

"I'm on the job," Miranda says tersely. She slides into the seat next to Jack and buckles herself in. "I spend my money on my tools."

Jack ignores the seat belt, leaning forward to peer at the haptic control panel. "Uh huh," she says. "Not a decades-long personal vendetta or anything." She glances over to Miranda to see her face darken in anger. Point for Jack.

While Miranda is starting the engine and trying to plot the course, Jack dodges her hands, flicking through the non-essential controls. "Hey, does this thing have a sound system?" 

"Hands off," Miranda tells her. "You're like a child with a toy." She doesn't deign to slap Jack's hands away, just slams on the thrusters, using gravity to force Jack back into her seat. It's a neat bit of piloting to get them up and out of the port quickly and quietly while also knocking Jack's head into the headrest hard enough to make her cough. Jack's almost impressed.

They fly mostly in silence. It's a few hours to Imir's mass relay, and no matter how many buttons Jack presses, Miranda's managed to lock her out of the system. Jack's reduced to reading through messages she's been ignoring on her omni-tool while Miranda sends a video to her sister. That's kinda interesting, too. Maybe Miranda's been doing some growing of her own these past few years. Communicating like a person instead of living like some martyred spy ghost all the time. Good for her.

"I'm not the only one this is personal for," Miranda says, flicking off her omni-tool. It takes a second for Jack to register that she's continuing a thought, like she's stumbled on this conversation mid-thread. "I'm fairly certain you hold no love for Cerberus either, not after what they did to you."

 _They_ , still. Jack tries to ignore the old prickle of outrage at that, remembering how Miranda had defended them, insisting it wasn't _Cerberus_ , like that somehow made it better. There are some wounds that just don't heal, no matter how long it's been. "Yeah, no shit," Jack says. "But at least I didn't spend my life on it." She shrugs, looking at Miranda sidelong. "I got the kids now. Teaching, being a _role model_ , for Christ's sake. The whole nine yards."

"Yes." Miranda purses her lips, thoughtful. Jack had expected defensive. Miranda's doing a lot of surprising her, lately. "Is that enough?"

 _Enough_. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Jack asks, voice sharp. The old anger surges up, white hot and immediate. "Don't look down your perfect nose at me 'cause you're still flying around in a shiny new ship, playing Robin Hood." She jabs a finger at Miranda. "What I do _matters_. So fuck you."

"So quick to play victim," Miranda hisses back. "I was _trying_ to ask you a genuine question and have a civil conversation, like human beings."

Jack throws her hands up in the air. "Then how come you haven't figured out to talk like a civil human being yet?" 

"Oh, that's rich."

"No, that's you, princess."

The silence stretches, tense and sullen, but Jack's loathe to give up the last word by breaking it, so she crosses her arms over her chest and stares out at the approaching relay. Miranda doesn't say anything. There’s only so far the mods can take you, and apparently her dad didn’t manage to throw in some goddamn manners. Jack sneaks a look at Miranda, scowling at the ship controls like they’ve wronged her. Like _she’s_ the one who was just insulted. Jack hunches her shoulders and glances away. She’s kind of furious that she let herself be dragged all the way out here by someone who _still_ hasn’t yanked the superiority complex stick out of her ass.

“We’ll be through the relay in five,” Miranda tells her. Jack ignores her. “It’ll take us several hours to make it to the Relic system. Feel free to sulk throughout the rest of the ship.”

“You’re _so_ fucking gracious,” Jack snaps. She’s torn - if she stays in the copilot seat, it’ll drive Miranda nuts, but it’ll drive her nuts too. She settles for skulking out of the cockpit, slamming her hip against Miranda’s chair for effect. So she’s petty. Sue her.

It’s still a nice ship. Tight quarters, but with the kind of slick design that makes it feel roomier than it is. A narrow hall feeds off into all the spaces around the ship. She finds a small mess tucked in above the engine room and settles for digging through Miranda’s supplies, looking for something to snack on. This is definitely not an Alliance joint. Her eyes light up when she spots a little tin of freeze dried cookies. She pops it open, stuffing a few in her mouth without hesitation. Miles better than the standard issue slop they served on the Normandy.

She wanders on, grazing on cookies as she pokes through storage spaces. Lots of heat clips, nice. She keys open a door at the very end of the hall to find a very nicely equipped armoury. “Score,” she mutters. Jack’s gotta stuff the cookie tin in her mouth so she can really check out the goods. She hefts a heavily modified Eviscerator, a _beautiful_ piece of weaponry. She admires the customized heat sink - you could wring a few more shots out of this one without sacrificing much to weight. Perfect. She’ll take this as a little bit of payment for this shitshow of a job.

Now she’s got some snacks, she’s got a new toy, she’s set. She ducks out into the hall again to the last door - personal quarters, she figures. Fixing her new gun to her harness at the small of her back, she activates her omnitool, flicking through her options for an unlock program she bought off an old contact a few months ago. She’s setting it up and chewing idly on a cookie when she presses the door command and it just...slides open. Not even locked. Jack hesitates, frowning, confused. She’s not really used to a world where Miranda trusts her with this stuff. 

Vaguely disappointed, Jack steps into Miranda’s room. Boring, white, utilitarian, what a surprise. The bed is the only luxury, just like on the Normandy, takes up half the room. There’s a desk set into one wall with a massive haptic display, and a pair of doors next to them. It’s honestly kind of dull. 

“Were you planning on rifling through my lingerie drawer?” Miranda asks from behind her. She’s propped up against the doorframe, one hand on her hip. 

It’s a good thing Jack has no shame. “Nah,” she says. She gestures at Miranda’s chest. “Don’t think it’d fit.” She tips her head. “Why, you hiding something good?”

“Please,” Miranda says. “I was a covert agent for years. Do you think I’d really be so cliche?” She’s being careful - tone, the way she steps forward, the expression on her face. It’s almost like she’s sorry. Jack wonders if she holds out, maybe she’ll get an actual apology out of Miranda. That’d be a first.

Jack shrugs and stuffs another cookie in her mouth. “You wore heels into combat for years,” she points out, her voice still brittle from their earlier argument. “You’ve done plenty of stupid shit.” 

“Like what I said before, I suppose.” Jack narrows her eyes, but she waits. Personal growth, right? Giving people chances. Miranda takes a breath and frowns at herself. “I didn’t mean to diminish what you’ve made of yourself.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. She wipes crumbs off her mouth with the back of her hand. “You did, though.”

“It was a genuine question,” Miranda says. She laces her fingers together in front of her. “I was - curious.” Jack raises her eyebrows, confused. “Is teaching fulfilling, I meant. Do you - do you still think about what Cerberus did to you?”

Ah. She’s not really talking about Cerberus, not for her, anyway. She’s thinking about dear ole dad and his test tubes and his training. Jack weighs it, in her head. She’s not real stoked on talking about this shit on the best of days, and that’s with people she actually _likes_. Much less Cerberus Barbie rediscovering her moral code. She shifts her weight from foot to foot and turns away, poking at Miranda’s computer. “Well, yeah,” she admits. “Not like I’m ever gonna forget what happened, that’s the kinda shit that sticks.”

“I guess it is,” Miranda says. When Jack glances back at her, she looks just about as uncomfortable as Jack feels.

God, she’s gonna regret this. Jack forges on. “But like, I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “After a while, you don’t let it go and it’s just gonna burn you up.” She shakes her head. “Are the kids enough? I don’t know, not always. But sometimes, yeah. And that’s better than I had before.”

Miranda doesn’t reply. Jack tosses the empty cookie tin onto Miranda’s immaculately made bed. “Anyway,” she says. “Got any more grub?”

“That’s good to hear,” Miranda says. She even sounds like she means it. Jack’s pretty used to condescension from her, so this whole ‘real feelings’ thing is both a nice change and totally unsettling. “Truly.”

Jack manages a tight, tense smile before a chime echoes through the ship. “We’re close,” Miranda says, and the ice queen’s back. All straight shoulders and professionalism. “We’d better get ready.” She gestures for Jack to follow her back towards the front of the ship

Grinning, Jack pulls the Eviscerator out from behind her back. “Way ahead of you,” she says.

“That’s my personal weaponry, you know,” Miranda tells her, an eyebrow raised in irritation.

Jack huffs out a breath. “Yeah right, princess. We both know you like something a lot daintier.” She mimes a delicate little pistol with her free hand. “Pew, pew.”

Pressing a hand to her head, Miranda sighs and mutters something about ‘working with a child’. She doesn’t argue, though, and she’s kind of smiling, which is really, really weird. Jack is really not used to this whole friendly thing. She’s not sure what to do with it.

Good thing she doesn’t have to figure it out. Pretty soon, they’re gonna be on the ground and hitting things. She likes this plan. She takes Miranda’s lead, sliding into the copilot seat again. “How long?”

“Restrain yourself,” Miranda says. “We’ll be on the ground in thirty minutes.”

Jack drops her new shotgun into her lap and cracks her knuckles. “I can’t wait,” she says.

 

 

Stanton’s base on Rough Tide is even more of a shit hole than Korlus was, and Korlus is a literal dump. They skate through the shields thanks to a handy set of codes sent by Miranda’s contact towards a squat, ugly box of a building stuck in some horrible little crater. “Jesus Christ,” Jack mutters, grimacing. “This place looks like a Krogan shat it out after a night of ryncol. People live here?”

“Vorcha,” Miranda says, guiding their shuttle to a halt by the smaller of the pair of docking bays. “But I’m not sure they count, really.” She stands and begins to gather her weapons, priming her omnitool for combat. They’re both pretty lightly armoured, and that’s always been Jack’s preference. Best defense is a good offense, and all that.

The door slides open to let them in with no complaint, and a quick scan with Jack’s omnitool shows the cameras are disabled. Intel was good, at least. Always nice when the Cerberus assholes develop a sense of guilt for the awful shit they’ve done. It’s the least they can do, really.

They move quickly, side by side, checking each door as they pass. Every room, every office and lab, is empty. “Pretty dead around here,” Jack mutters. She’d read the file Miranda had sent her, and she knows this leftover Cerberus cell is supposed have a pretty decent population. These silent hallways feel kinda like they’re in some kind of horror vid. “I’m not saying I’m disappointed, but like…”

“No, this feels wrong.” Miranda frowns. She compares the hallway to the small map projected from her omnitool, and then gestures towards a windowless door a few paces down. “There.”

“People to hit?” Jack asks hopefully. 

Miranda jimmies the door open with a hard smack from the heel of her hand. “No, better.” She gestures at the tiny, depressing little office. “An inside view.” She settles herself into the seat in front of the display and starts up her omnitool, digging her way into the system.

“ _Not_ my definition of better.” Jack prods at a half-dead plant, frowning. The pot’s bone dry. She’s kind of surprised that Cerberus let their employees like, show personality. Maybe she’s not the only one doing some growing around here. “Anything?”

Miranda hums. “It’s - strange,” she says. Jack raises her eyebrows and flaps an impatient hand at her. “Ah, well, the firewalls are down.”

“So?”

“So, this is a Cerberus cell. The cameras are off, security is absent, and they might have well set out a welcome mat to their internal systems.” She stands again, hefting her pistol, dropping easily into a ready stance. 

“So, trap,” Jack says.

“Trap,” Miranda agrees.

They stand in silence for a moment, and Jack shrugs, a grin spreading across her face. “Let’s go spring it.” She hates subtlety, anyway. Who wants to go sneaking around when they can charge right in the middle and fuck shit up? She cocks her shotgun and gestures to the door.

“Roger that,” Miranda agrees, full lips curving up in a smile. They’ve got this much in common, at least - the taste for a good fight. It’s the one thing Jack’s always appreciated about her. That, and her tits. Jack’s only human.

“Looks like we’ve got to go down.” Their map of the facility has been considerably upgraded by Miranda’s digging through the system, and now they can see the faint figures of heat signatures throughout the structure. Four empty floors and then a big ole bullseye on some big room in the basement. Yup. Trap.

Jack brings her shotgun up to rest against her shoulder. “Great,” she says cheerfully. “I love going down.”

Miranda stares at her for a long moment. “Oh my god,” she murmurs. Jack can’t tell if Miranda sounds disgusted or turned on. She grins wider.

There’s a service elevator at the end of the hall, and true to form, the doors slide right open, like it’s waiting for them. “Still creepy,” Jack mutters. “Like we’re being watched.”

Miranda presses the button to send them down to the bottom floor. “We are,” she tells Jack. She glances pointedly back at the camera set into the ceiling of the elevator car. “I would be truly surprised if our ‘friend’ had actually disabled them.”

Jack nods. “Think they’re listening, too?”

“Probably,” Miranda says, and then something shifts in her eyes, goes from unconcerned to vicious. Jack kind of loves it. “Does it matter?”

“Nope.” The buttons illuminate one by one with a little chime and Jack scrunches up her nose, drumming her fingers against the barrel of her shotgun. “As long as I get to hit something in the end.”

The last button lights up. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a little bloodthirsty?” 

“Yup,” Jack says. The doors open and she takes point, shotgun in hand. The buzz she feels could be anticipation or the biotics she’s summoning, keeping ready. Down here, the lights flicker, and the doors are all locked, the red lights like little beacons leading them where they need to be. A handy path, or funnel for cows to the slaughter. Either or. “Liked it so much, I got it tattooed on my ass.”

Miranda makes a disgusted noise, her face lit by the soft glow of her map. They’re only a few metres from the target now. “That’s the only part of you I _haven’t_ seen naked, so that might actually be true.”

They stop in front of a broad set of double doors, no lock in sight. Miranda checks her heat clips one last time, the sneer sliding off her face as she drops into readiness. She’s all cool professionalism, and Jack almost admires how easy it is for her. She runs cold as fast as Jack runs hot. They’re gonna need that in a second. 

“Girl’s gotta have _some_ secrets,” Jack says. She jerks her chin at the doors and Miranda gives her a nod. Action. Jack likes action.

She boots the doors open, and before she even gets more than a few feet inside, she hears the cocking of approximately half a million guns. “Hello, dead people!” she calls. The big space, it turns out, is some kind of auditorium - she and Miranda are front and centre and pretty much surrounded on all sides. There is a woman standing directly in front of them, legs wide, hands planted on her hips, chin raised. Power stance. Her short cropped hair says ‘practical business woman’, her slightly wild eyes say ‘completely unpredictable. “Holy shit,” Jack says. It’s _really_ hard not to laugh right now. “Does she think this is a movie?”

“Miranda Lawson,” the woman, probably Juno Stanton, booms at them. It’s part hilarious and part offensive. Jack is _right here_. It’s confirmed: Cerberus is completely shit at teaching manners. “Not as clever as you thought you were, it seems.” She’s got that kind of weird fervour, like some slick preacher in front of a cult. She has to have drunk the koolaid if she’s still trying to bring Cerberus back from the dead. Ha. Back from the dead.

Miranda holsters her pistol and shifts her weight back onto her heels, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s pretty much radiating disdain. Jack decides she likes that a lot better when it’s not directed at her. As a weapon, it’s kind of amazing. “You mean this little trap?” Miranda scoffs. “Please. You just made it easier for us.”

Stanton grits her teeth. “You betrayed _everything_ we stand for,” she says. Her voice is shrill, but Jack’s only half listening. She’s too busy cataloguing the minions. Lots of the beefy marine type, easy peasy. Too slow and musclebound to be much of a challenge. Shadows make it look like there’s more of ‘em than they are, maybe twenty or so. Rest of the facility must’ve been the eggheads and science types. Less useful in a fight. She’s a little bit concerned by the pair of snipers positioned at their far left and right. Turns out Stanton’s got some tactical experience. 

Jack tunes back in after a second and Stanton’s still shouting her displeasure down at them. “After everything the Illusive Man did for you, you turned your back on him. You orchestrated the downfall of the _only_ agency looking out for your species!”

Jack uses the barrel of her shotgun to scratch at her ear. “Is she still going?” she asks Miranda. “I thought we were gonna get a fight out of this.”

“She is,” Miranda agrees. “Pity. I was hoping I could get my nails done today.”

“You cannot dismiss me!” Stanton declares. Her eyes are wilder than ever.

“Oh I can,” Miranda says, “and I will.” She tips her head to the side. “I’ve met a great deal of you zealots over the years, rooting out the disease the Illusive Man left behind. I’ve played this game before. I can waste my time trying to reason with you, but inevitably, you’ll choose to take me down in a blaze of glory and I will end up with your blood on my boots.” She narrows his eyes. “I’d much rather skip all of that. It’s never as important as you think it is.”

It actually takes Stanton by surprise. “What?” she demands.

Jack shrugs. “She means you’re a crazy bitch and we’re gonna go ahead and jump right to the part where we shoot you. Hope that’s cool.” Miranda doesn’t look over at her, but Jack can see a smile spreading across her lips.

Stanton raises her hands and shouts some enraged command and Jack dives to the floor, lashing out with her foot to shove Miranda down too. Bullets whine through the air above them, hissing as they skim their biotic barriers. Fucking snipers. Jack hates them all. “Jack!” Miranda calls, and Jack watches her scramble to her feet, summoning her biotics around her clenched fist. “You take one, I’ll get the other.”

“Got it!” Jack ducks another barrage from above, racing forward to vault over the first row of seats, using it as scant cover. Better than nothing. Ahead of her, one of the snipers is readying another shot. He’s aiming across the room - at Miranda. “Not today, buddy,” Jack mutters, and she roars as she flings a shockwave up towards him. It scatters a handful of guards and sends him flying backwards to the wall. The impact is satisfyingly loud.

She could climb up after him, finish the job, but she’d rather not. She likes a good fight, but not a firing line. She reaches for her biotics again, savouring the rush of adrenaline, and lobs a warp field like an overhand pitch, arcing up high before dropping down on him and ripping him to pieces. Satisfying as hell.

From the other side of the room, there’s the crack of Miranda’s pistol and a choked off yell. “Hey, cheerleader,” Jack shouts. “I got the goons, you take on the Cerberus asshole.” She punctuates it with another shockwave. Man, she loves hearing these big dickheads scream like a baby. 

“Deal,” Miranda replies.

It’s not easy keeping track of twenty guys with guns, but Jack’s had practice. She’s got the advantage of her small size, her speed, and her sheer fucking aggression. She roars again, hurling herself over the seats into the nearest man. “This is like Purgatory all over again!” she cries, and presses her shotgun muzzle to his head, pulling the trigger.

She loses herself in the rhythm of the fight, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as she shreds Stanton’s guards into a bloody pulp. It’s not like she never gets to flex her biotics anymore, but it’s been a long goddamn time since she really let loose. It’s fucking exhilarating. Her barriers flicker and she feels the burn of a bullet graze her arm and it just makes her scream louder, fight harder. 

A man reaches for her and she tears his arm from his body. She pulls him close and tells him, “I will _destroy_ you,” and then she sends him flying from her to knock over a guard raising his rifle to aim. “Not this fucking time.”

She’s got no idea how long it is before the guards stop moving and she spins to a stop, her pulse slowing and her breath heaving in her chest. She can taste copper in her mouth and she’s not sure whose it is. Above her, Miranda stands over Stanton’s body, her boot planted firmly on the woman’s throat. “I’m sorry,” Miranda says, and she sounds like she means it. “I was like you, once. If you realized the kind of damage you’ve wrought, you’d spend the rest of your life atoning, too.” Below her, Stanton lets out a shuddering wet breath and Miranda squeezes off three shots into her head. 

Always careful.

Maybe if Shepard had been here, they’d have talked their way out of this without any bodies. She’s not, though, and Miranda had come to _her_ , not Shepard. She’d known what she wanted. Jack scrubs at her face, but there’s enough blood on her knuckles that she probably just makes it worse. “I think we got them,” she says.

Miranda finally looks up from Stanton’s body. “She was the important one, anyway,” she says. She leaps down nimbly to stand next to Jack. “Cut off the head and the body will die, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Yeah,” Jack mutters, distracted. Miranda’s flushed from her fight with Stanton, a dark bruise blossoming over her cheekbone and her hair falling out of its tie. It’s _super_ hot. Between than and the adrenaline, it’s enough to tempt Jack to be very, very stupid. She reaches out to grab Miranda’s bicep, turning her in and stretching up so she can kiss her on the mouth.

She’s got a great mouth. Her warm, lush lips part in surprise before she leans into it, her tongue teasing at Jack’s, her free hand gripping Jack’s waist. Her other still clutches her pistol, and Jack laughs into Miranda’s mouth when she feels the butt of it press into her back. Maybe Shepard wasn’t so wrong, way back when, maybe they should’ve just made out and made up a decade ago. Miranda makes this little sound and pulls Jack up against her, and it’s a goddamn shame they haven’t been doing this for years.

Miranda breaks away first, stepping back and blinking at her. “That was...unexpected.” She has blood smeared across her nose, now.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. She grins. “We should do it again, sometime.”

They’re standing in a room full of dead Cerberus agents, and Miranda’s expression is so torn that Jack wants to laugh, again. “I suppose we should make our quick getaway, first.”

“Sure.” Jack nudges a guard and then collects her shotgun from the floor. She’s not sure when she’d lost it, but she’s gonna hang on to it. It’s a trophy, now. “Your ship’s got autopilot, right?”

Miranda snorts, clapping her pistol to harness. “Please,” she says. “I only have the best.”

In the elevator, on the way back up, it’s Miranda’s turn to surprise Jack, kissing her soft and deep and thorough until she’s just as breathless as before. 

If this is how all vacations go, maybe Jack’s gotta start taking them more often.


End file.
